


Locker Room Antics

by Gospelofthewicked



Series: Captivated [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Communication, Dwight and lockers are the real ship here lol, First Time, Hand Jobs, Jake is done with Dwight's shit but loves him anyway, M/M, Masturbation, Size Difference, Size Kink, They learned sign langauge from Claudette prove me wrong, Unexpectedly soft Trapper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gospelofthewicked/pseuds/Gospelofthewicked
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple task. Sneak into the basement, unhook Jake, and run far away. So how come he's stuck in a locker watching The Trapper masturbate, and why does he wish those hands would touch him instead?
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper
Series: Captivated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916722
Comments: 9
Kudos: 204





	Locker Room Antics

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally accumulated enough sin to buy a fastpass to Hell yay.

Dwight had been in the fog longer than anyone, aside from The Trapper, and so he knew its rules better than anyone. There were the more obvious ones, like there being no way to open the exit gate other than powering generators, or the hatch being closed. Then, there were the more subtle ones, ones that new Survivors would miss out on. Rules like never hiding in a locker if you were up against The Huntress, because then she could find you even if she wasn’t looking for you. Or that pallets were no obstacle to the bloodthirsty Nurse, who could teleport through them without a care in the world.

Then, Dwight had his personal rules, one of which was being put into question every time he encountered The Trapper. It was his first rule, the one he would warn new Survivors about when he pulled them aside just before their first trial.

The Trapper was a ruthlessly efficient killer. His traps were cruelly placed under windows and next to pallets, his cleaver attacks brutal. No sympathetic emotion was visible from behind that ghoulish, bloodstained mask. He was a nightmare on legs.

None of these facts about him could explain why he’d kept missing Dwight lately. The Trapper never hesitated, yet his cleaver strike would always come a split second too late, or else be a millimeter off. And often, as the Killer was breathing down his neck as Dwight raced for the hatch, or desperately pulled on the exit lever, he’d inexplicably slow down. If Dwight looked back as he escaped, he’d see the Trapper watching calmly from a distance.

But this strange mercy was only applicable to Dwight Fairfield he was reminded as he heard Jake’s screams from the basement. He’d just been hooked, a second time. As Dwight crouched behind a rock, he chewed his nails as his mind raced. Meg had been hit a while back, it was unlikely she’d found Claudette to heal her yet. And the last time he’d seen Claudette, she’d been on the other side of the map. It was up to him, then. Time to put the Trapper’s- what, fondness?- for him to the test.

Dwight snuck up to the shack, aware that his heartbeat was getting louder and louder. The Trapper was very close. Very close, but not in the basement itself, which gave him a chance. 

He ran down the stairs, gambling that there wouldn’t be any traps waiting on the steps, which thankfully there weren’t. He approached his hooked friend, the red lighting creating a bloody halo around the other man.

“Dwight, thank God!” Jake exclaimed, his stoic face having permitted a small smile. “You have to be quick, he’s-”

They heard thundering footsteps heading down the stairs. If Dwight freed his friend only for Jake to instantly get hooked again, he’d die. But it was too late to run back up the way he came. So Dwight did what he always did under immense pressure, he hid. He threw himself in a locker, cursing his short-sightedness as the door slammed shut behind him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jake sighed as The Trapper reached the basement floor. The Killer spared the survivalist a cursory glance to check he was still hooked before turning his gaze to the locker. 

“Hey, asshole!” Jake shouted at him in a desperate bid to keep him from finding Dwight, “If you’re going to face-camp, you can at least look at me. It’s polite.”

Despite how angry and disappointed he must have been in Dwight, Jake was still sticking his neck out for him, just as he always did. Dwight would have to tell him how grateful he was after this trial… as well as apologise. But Jake’s attempt fell on deaf ears, The Trapper did not budge. Nor did he move to open the locker. He just kept staring. Jake groaned, more in frustration than pain, as his life drained away.

An eternity seemed to pass as Dwight prayed the Killer would go away before Jake lost the energy to fight. Dwight’s legs were beginning to ache when he saw a flash of familiar red hair. Meg was peeking around the corner as she crouched on the staircase, looking from Jake to the locker in obvious confusion. Jake hastily signed ‘he’s looking at Dwight, grab me and run.’ before raising his arms to continue fending off the Entity’s advances. Meg was nowhere near as cautious as Dwight, and so she took Jake at his word, dashing across the room and wrenching him from the hook with mere seconds to spare. The Trapper didn’t turn to look, but that didn’t stop Meg from dragging Jake out by the arm as she sprinted up the stairs with him.

Dwight felt soaring relief for a second before it was crushed by overwhelming dread. He was alone with The Trapper now. Should he make a desperate attempt to run past? Should he wait it out? More importantly, what the hell did The Trapper gain by focusing on him without even doing anything?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, The Trapper shifted. Great, Dwight thought, you’ve just cursed yourself. But the Killer didn’t reach for the door handle. Instead, he reached for his apron straps, pulling them down and letting the clothes fall from his body. Beneath his dungarees, he was completely naked. There were no mental rules regarding whatever the hell this was.

The bigger man kicked off his work boots, allowing him to pull off his clothes, tossing them to the floor. Still, he didn’t remove the mask. He took a few steps back, which Dwight knew was for his benefit, so he could see all of the other man through the gap in the locker. And what a lot there was to see.

Some distant part of his brain was screaming at him to analyse, run his eyes over every muscle, every cut, every shaft of sharp metal sticking from the Killer’s skin. There had to be something he could use, something he could understand. But try as he might, Dwight could focus only on one spot, The Trapper’s crotch. Just like everything else about the man, his cock was big. It stood erect, thick and veiny, the pink head already slick with beads of precum. Dwight involuntarily found himself wondering if he could fit his mouth around such a monster, if he would feel the pulse of it inside him. His own groin was beginning to burn with base desire at the thought of it, even if something that large would surely tear him apart. Part of him wanted it to.

What the fuck, Dwight? an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Jake hissed in the back of his mind, but it was drowned out by The Trapper’s grunts as he began to tug at his dick. His movements were rough, quick and simple, but those guttural sounds were doing very complicated things to Dwight. He wanted to rest his head on that muscular chest as The Trapper pleasured himself, feel those low growls rumbling from the man’s throat. He wanted those coarse hands to run over his body, to force those sounds out of him, too. God, when did it get so hot in this locker?

As The Trapper thrusted into his hand, Dwight’s own hand crept down his trousers to clutch his groin. He watched, entranced, as the bigger man’s balls twitched, a warning before he came hard. His cum squirted out of him in a torrent, splashing onto the locker. He must have been as pent up as Dwight was.

The Trapper let his head roll back for a moment, the aftermath of his climax leaving him sweaty and panting. Then, he grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. The little light there was on the basement was blotted out by his huge form as he leaned in and pressed his hand on the back of the locker, like he would when he was about to drag Dwight out. Of course, Dwight reprimanded himself, the Killer had received his fun and had no use for Dwight now. He was going to die, again. The Trapper pushed his face against Dwight’s neck, and Dwight could feel him pulling the mask up so their skin could touch. 

Dwight froze like a frightened rabbit, waiting for the moment to end and for him to be picked up and left dangling from a hook. Teeth grazed along his exposed throat, before biting down. He let out a soft whine of pain and The Trapper let go, swirling his tongue over the freshly bruised skin. Dwight felt him begin to bite down again, and in a blind panic he stammered out “N-no.”

The Trapper paused. “No?” he repeated, his hoarse voice surprising soft. Dwight could have laughed. This man actually cared about what he wanted? Would he go away if he was told to? 

But Dwight didn’t want that. Despite every hard-earned reason he had accumulated over years in the fog, he didn’t want to be left alone. He didn’t want to be hurt either. Not in this meaningless, casual way, at least. He was almost surprised to hear his own voice when it came out of his mouth, at the certainty of it.

“Be softer.” he said.

The Trapper’s face pressed against him again, but this time his neck was peppered with gentle kisses. A giant hand drifted to his trousers, pawing at the fabric that separated it from his needy little cock. But it stayed there, resting on his groin, while the bigger man kissed along his jawline. It was a request, not a demand. Dwight smiled.

Above them, he heard the sound of a generator being completed, instinctively knowing it was the penultimate one. He couldn’t believe his friends had rushed through them so fast, or had he been in the locker for longer than he realised? Claudette must have been hard at work on her own again. Either way, he still had time.

“Touch me.” he begged, and The Trapper was only too happy to oblige. Dwight’s trousers were unzipped and pushed down, left pooled at his feet. The bigger man ran his thumb along the length of Dwight’s aching cock, pressing it against his tip and sending a small shockwave of sensation up his body.

“You can touch me more. However you want.” Dwight murmured. He felt The Trapper smile against his skin. There was no time to adjust, only painful pleasure all over his groin as his cock was milked dry, the only pause being when The Trapper moved his hand to squeeze his balls. Dwight’s legs felt like jelly, he was sure he would have fallen over if there had been any space to. Instead he was pressed between the wall and The Trapper, forced to inhale the overpowering smell of rust and earth as his face was pressed into the other man’s gargantuan shoulder. Being stuck like this only aroused him more, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It wasn’t long before he felt the climax building inside of his core.

“Bite me. Bite me as hard as you want.”

The Trapper let out a hum of appreciation, before biting down hard on Dwight’s collarbone, causing him to release a cry of pain as the pain mingled with the sweetness of his orgasm. Dwight’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he came, the delighted sound tearing from his throat surprising both himself and his new lover, who chuckled. It was a sweet sound from the man he had been taught to fear for so long. He wanted to hear it more. He wanted to hear all the other happy noises this man could make. 

Utterly exhausted, he let out another little whine, legs trembling. The Trapper must have assumed it was a sign of discomfort, because he slowly released Dwight from his grip and stepped back, hands up as though to reassure him he wasn’t a threat. 

Dwight braced himself against the side of the locker, smiling at the unexpectedly cute gesture, “Hey, no, it’s okay, I just- woah.”

With the mask still perched on top of his head, The Trapper’s face was revealed to him for the first time. And, like everything that had happened this trial, Dwight really wasn’t ready for what he saw.

The Trapper’s eyes had always looked dark peering out from the mask, but in actuality they were a soft grey with flecks of blue. His bald head was covered in faint white scars, testament to some unknown horror endured before being dumped in the Entity’s realm like the rest of them. A small, fresh cut ran across his broad nose, and an old gash ran diagonally from just above the right side of his top lip down to his chin. Dwight had never considered that The Trapper had been just another person once, before being brought here. What had happened to him in his previous life? Dwight wanted to learn everything.

The Trapper’s eyebrows raised, and Dwight realised he had been staring at him for a while.  
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “You’re just a lot more attractive than I expected. Wait, that sounded like an insult. Um-”

The other man was towering over him again with one step forward, pulling him up by the collar to silence him with a kiss. When Dwight’s feet touched the ground again, The Trapper’s eyes had something suspiciously like fondness held within them. Meg had always said he was ‘cute, in a nerdy way’. Was that what The Trapper saw in him? He looked up at him with his best attempt at puppy eyes, and sure enough, he swore he could see his cheeks darken.

The Trapper opened his mouth, about to speak for the second time, when an alarm rang throughout the map. An exit gate had been opened. This time, Dwight wasn’t surprised that he’d missed the last generator being completed, he had been very, very preoccupied with making his own sounds.

In his head, in his heart, he could feel the timer begin to tick down. From The Trapper’s sudden frown, it seemed he could sense it too. Dwight scrambled to pull his trousers back up, and The Trapper grabbed his own clothes, albeit at a much more relaxed pace. When Dwight was looking presentable once more, The Trapper stepped aside, giving him access to the stairs.

“Name?” he asked. It took Dwight a second to figure out what he meant, for some reason he’d assumed killers would know more, like the Entity did. Perhaps they were not as favoured as he thought.

“I’m Dwight. Um, Dwight Fairfield.”

“Dwight.” The Trapper said slowly, as though savouring the sound on his lips. Then, he pointed at himself. “Evan.”

“Oh.” Dwight said. The Trapper had always been, well, The Trapper, to him. But of course it made sense for him to have a name.

“The Macmillan estate is your map, right? So, Evan Macmillan is your name?”

The Trapper scowled “Yes, but just Evan.”

“Just Evan, got it.” Dwight laughed nervously, tugging at his tie.

“Time running out. Leave.”

“Oh, right.” Dwight said, then followed it up with something he never thought he’d say, “I, uh, I hope I get you next trial. Bye, Evan.” The earth shook as the timer announced it was halfway done, and he raced up the stairs to reach the exit gate before it was too late. Evan smiled, watching him go, before fixing the mask back onto his face.

“Bye, Dwight.”

**Author's Note:**

> We all love healthy communication down here.


End file.
